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Hermione looked over at her clock. The hour hand struck three and she was wide awake. She found herself yet again, thinking about him. She let out a harsh laugh as she thought about him fast asleep on those who-knows-how-high thread count sheets. Her laugh died as she thought of the body that likely lay next to him. Oh, sure. She had a fine pedigree. Astoria Greengrass was a Pureblood and so many other things Hermione would never be. She was sure that Draco’s Slytherin pack all told him Astoria was just so much better, she thought bitterly.
Hermione had tried to fit in their uppercrust circle. They had tolerated Hermione’s presence but it was clear she would never be permitted if it wasn’t on Draco’s arm around her, acting like an Exclusive Member pass, granting her access to the upper echelon of wizarding society. They’d ponder topics of philosophy, never acknowledging that it was muggles that contributed the most to the topic. They’d wade across the meaning of life, never digging in. It was just a hobby- like their heavy drinking. Hermione would sip her champagne and try not to let their teasing about being lightweight bug her.
And despite all of that, Hermione knew that while Draco slept next to Astoria- his dreams were of her. Sure, it was easy for him to leave her. But she was hard to forget, Hermione knew this to be true of herself. While she could be called lovesick and perhaps even pathetic for it, she could not be called insignificant by anyone who had ever known her. The Golden Girl lived up to her name and she knew Draco knew it just as well as she did.
While Hermione missed him, she knew they weren’t well suited. He had grown up, a silver spoon in his mouth while she had had braces. He had lived in a mansion, she had been raised in a simple two story home. He had run up and down hallways filled with portraits and she had been set free among the hills of their neighborhood, just her bike to steer her. He would sit tightly at dinner parties, under the watch of an au pair while she had danced in the living room with her dad, mom at the kitchen table going over their bills.
But it couldn’t be helped- Hermione had fallen for him; his arrogant smirk, his twinkling gray eyes. He had fallen for her too though. He had once told her that falling for her was like an early spring snow- unexpected but not wholly surprising. But reality crept into their bliss- it did not take very long. He said “we’re too different” and had gone on his way- their floos no longer connected. It was only after he left that Hermione felt the full sting of how he had laughed at her dreams and rolled his eyes at her jokes.
He always thought himself superior- not because of blood (at least not since the war) but because he thought himself above her. She had beat him at every test and trial whether it was in school or otherwise and yet Draco Malfoy remained convinced of his own excellence. Hermione wondered if his ego had room in his palace with Astoria, if he had all the space he needed to prance and preen and have his ego stroked by dainty, freshly painted hands. Hermione took solace in knowing that he would never be happy. Not when he was reminded of her at every turn, her fame was finally an asset.
Oh, sure. He’ll block it all out but the voices of the general population scream at him, “why did you let her go?” Hermione was sure that the thought echoed in his head, his mind a cave where only the sound is the thought of her. Hermione wants to ask him if it makes him sad that the love that he was always searching for was the love that he had?
And now? Now he was out in the world, doing his soul-searching, afraid of public opinion, afraid of growing old, feeble, and powerless like his father. Draco was chasing make-believe status, his Slytherin ambition turning him green like the leftovers from a cheap gold ring in her mind. The last time he was free? When he was with her. He used to find freedom in the sky on a broom but Draco had admitted, it was nothing to the feeling of being with her.
But now it was done and it was over. Hermione had accepted that. She wondered if the same could be said for Draco. Was he holding out hope that she would be his mistress, his dirty little secret? She was harder to forget than she was to leave, that much she knew to be true. She’d bet he thought about her. When he attended those wizarding operas that put her to sleep. When he strolled the hallways filled with portraits of his family, all so proud of him now that he’d gotten rid of her, with his dragon leather shoes and his million galleon couch. Yeah, Hermione Granger would bet that he thought of her.